


The Loves of Thor

by Kahvi



Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 15:43:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14358546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kahvi/pseuds/Kahvi
Summary: Love is easy, for Thor. So everyone says.





	The Loves of Thor

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Loves of Frigga](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14352066) by [Roadstergal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roadstergal/pseuds/Roadstergal). 



_It's easier for you_ , his mother always said, _you love so easily_. And Thor took that and made it part of himself, as any good child would his parent's command. Anyway, it was true; he didn't know any other way to be. If this warm, sunny _everything_ -feeling was love, then he loved _everything_ ; bright mornings, and stars, and long breakfasts in the nursery when Mother would allow it; the animals in the palace gardens, the darker ones in the woods; the crisp winter skies and the snow, sparring with Father, running with his friends. Days were so long and exciting, and there was so much to _do_ , so many things to explore and experience, that he hardly had time for sleep. He would talk and talk and talk, exhausting his minders and his teachers and sometimes even his friends, like Sif, who sometimes asked him to be left alone with her books or her metalwork. She _made_ things, little trinkets and sleeves for weapons, belt buckles and buttons, and she liked to be alone. Sometimes, she would make _him_ things.

Sometimes Thor liked to be alone. Everything in the world was just so _much_ , so overwhelming, and there was so much to _feel_. Sometimes he felt like he was going to burst with it all; with love and joy and sadness. He wept when his first pet died; a little goat, too weak and frail to be kept with the rest of the herd. Mother would not let him keep it, not at first, but then he cried himself to sleep for a whole, long week, trying not for anyone to hear, and she brought it to him herself. “It will die,” she told him, and he shrugged. Everything died, eventually. Father had taken him hunting, and he had seen the fallen birds in the garden. Even people died, like his grandfather, who he had never seen. Thor knew what death was. Then Vilje died, and he _knew_ what death was. 

He knew he was supposed to fall in love. That was what people did; men and women, mostly. Men and men. Women and women. He looked at his friends, wondering how he would know, if there was a sign, or if he could just decide. Thor chose Sif. It didn’t feel very different. He’d always liked her, and now he loved her. “I’m in love with Sif,” he told himself. And it felt right.

 

This sort of love seemed a disappointing sort of thing. From how much everyone went on about it, Thor had assumed that when you _fell in love_ , it would feel something like a cross between your soul getting ripped out of your body, and the sweet taste of honey-mead. It wasn't like that with Sif. Not at all. He knew that infatuation should ripen and turn into _real_ love, whatever that meant. It sounded so interesting, so enticing, and he desperately wanted it. He wanted it so much it hurt. Maybe, he thought, it would be different if they did the right things: Kissing, touching, the secret stuff his mother didn't think he knew about. They kissed, and that was nice, but it felt the same. 

Thor knew that if you touched yourself in a certain way, you would feel the way lovers did, when they were together. He longed to feel that too, but every time his hand strayed in the night, he would stop himself. He would wait, he thought. Not to spoil it. He thought to ask Sif, and eventually did. 

It was... nice. Good. It felt good, the touching, and the kissing and the burst of happy relief, but it didn't _help_. It didn't scratch that itch he didn't know what was. 

He had just turned 300. His body was changing, and never felt quite right. Sif laughed at him, and Thor laughed with her; it was funny. Sif was changing too, in interesting ways. He saw less of Loki, these days, his time spent more with his father, learning how to fence and fight. Loki was with Frigga, learning the things Thor had never understood; the ways of magic. Seiðr. Loki was _different_. He was the best thing in Thor's life; as indispensable as his right arm, his legs, his eyes. He could not imagine life without him. He was so self-evident Thor never really thought about him (would you think about your knee, or your elbow, or your shin), but now he wasn't here. It was _wrong_. 

Thor would sneak into Frigga's rooms when he should be studying, knowing she would always find and shoo him out before they started _their_ lessons, but he kept trying. He crept into Loki's bed at night, wrapped his arms around him and pretended to fall asleep. For whatever reason, Loki let him. He would steal his books, tell him jokes until he yelled at him; anything for the attention. Anything just to _be_ with him a little more. 

And then one day, getting out of the bath, Thor _saw_ him. Hunched over his books, hair still wet from his own bath, dripping into the ancient paper, pale skin dull in the afternoon light, and it was like when Vilje died. Like knowing what it was, suddenly and unbearably, this thing he had no name for until now. Thor turned from the doorway, ran back into the bathing hall, crawled into the empty water-niche, and cried. 

Why had no one told him? Love was pain.

 

“I love you,” Jane said, and it felt right. “I love you,” he told her, and that felt right too. He would move worlds for her, cross galaxies, and he did.This was not pain; this was the calm, dark ocean between continents, and just as endless, he felt. He poured it over her, and she accepted, if a little stunned. This must be what it was like; what he did not understand as a child, could not understand. Someone who could take all he could give. 

Jane was beautiful. Her world was beautiful, and Thor fought to keep it safe, because it was hers and it was right. In which order, he did not quite know. “I saw you in New York,” she said, and how was he even to begin explaining? 

“She will die,” his mother said, as though he had not already learned that lesson. 

Then Frigga did. 

 

“Why do you never talk about your brother,” she asked, long after he had died for her. 

“What is there to talk about?”

She looked at him with questioning eyes, her lips never quite smiling. “I know you must have loved him.”

“Do you?” Dripping water, and a desolate plain. An ocean that was never enough. 

Jane was enough. A solid foundation. She took what she needed, but there was still so much _left_. He had so much _more_. 

He needed a chasm.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Loves of Loki](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14359809) by [Roadstergal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roadstergal/pseuds/Roadstergal)




End file.
